50 miles by foot: Rest, recovery and regret

Feb. 24, 2020 (8 weeks out from DRB)

I got a cold. At least I think it was a cold. There were aches and chills, but no fever. There was a cough, but not much congestion. I had a splitting headache and all I wanted to do was sleep. In the absence of a more refined diagnosis, I’m going to go ahead and call it a cold. Whatever it was, it wiped me out.

The general rule of thumb is that as long as symptoms stay above the neck it’s fine to continue training. Honestly, I think running with a mild head cold helps me get over an illness. This time is different. I can barely get out of bed.

I had planned a big day on Sunday with a shorter run on Saturday to hit my mileage goal and take advantage of some unseasonably warm weather. Instead, I’m shuffling around the house in a bathrobe and slippers muttering to myself like Vincent Gigante in the West Village.

Not only would my immediate plans need to be canceled, my schedule for the next few days would require revision. Before I could make new plans, however, I had to let go of the old ones. That’s when recovery became a mental battle.

The first stage is venting. There is nothing more frustrating than when a run gets taken away because of factors outside your control. Bad weather? No problem, that’s why there’s gear. Time crunch? Just get up an hour earlier. But illness? There’s nothing anyone can do about getting sick, except whining about how much it sucks.

I’ve never been good about giving myself necessary time off during training, always pushing just a little too hard when I should be cutting myself some slack. That’s a bad combination, and often leads to injury and/or burnout.

I’m trying to correct that behavior this season. After the weekend back-to-back that never happened, I had penciled in a rest and recovery week to focus on strength training and allow time for minor aches to heal. I made a date with my massage therapist for some deep tissue work, always a treat.

For a change, I was actually looking forward to a break. Then I had it foisted upon me because of a stupid cold. It took me three days to get over being sick and just as long to get over myself and reframe the regret into opportunity.

I started with time. What is it, really? Because I mark my calendar with weekly and monthly training blocks, I got attached to mileage goals that really aren’t very important.

Counting backward from my last long run, I realized getting sick resulted in a rest and recovery block lasting nine days. That’s longer than I’d like, but not so long that I’d actually lose fitness.

During that time I managed to get in three solid strength training workouts, which was one of my primary goals. The few days I did run were of relatively high quality, focusing on speed work over flat non-technical terrain.

(The workout: a 1-2-3-4 ladder, consisting of intervals — half marathon pace or thereabouts — lasting one minute, two minutes, three minutes, and four with a recovery jog of the same duration between sustained bursts of speed. After reaching four minutes, I then went back down the ladder from 3-2-1. It’s a good workout.)

That’s actually a pretty excellent use of a rest and recovery week, even if it didn’t line up exactly the way I had planned. It sounds simple, but giving myself credit for the work I did helped get over the regret of not hitting my goals.

Next, I had to frame reentry into regular training. I’ve split my weeks into two categories: hard and easy. What I needed was a redefinition. I’ll consider this a bridge week. How’s that for flexibility? My new goal is to get my mileage and climbing back up to a respectable level before two weeks of intense training.

The trick is that when I do get back to running, I’ll have to guard against feeling too energetic and buoyant, like a mini-taper. Knowing those two hard weeks are still ahead should help keep me in check. At least that’s the idea.

Once again, I need to remind myself of my primary goal: To attain physical peak in middle age. As I’m learning, that requires balance above everything. Getting sick threw that carefully-plotted equilibrium out of whack. Getting back on track is only as hard as I make it on myself.